Could this be Poets’ Heaven?

We’ve been in Saskatchewan a week so far, participating in one of the programs sponsored by Sage Hill. Eight of us, intent on strengthening our work. Although we have a grown-up name, Spring Colloquium, we’re really just a group of people learning more about our poems -- and while we're at it, learning to be friends.

Each with our own room, we’re free to spend our time as we will: writing, reading, napping, scribbling, writing some more.

Meals appear like clockwork. All we have to do is walk down the hall to the dining room. Staff here do the shopping, cooking, thinking what to serve. We don’t even have to rinse our dishes.

If you ask what someone thinks about some particular poem/poet/form, they don’t look at you like they’re going to fall asleep or like you’re from some other planet.

Last night we were treated to a reading by poets east and west. Our mentor for the full two weeks, Anne Simpson lives on the Atlantic. Guest here for a few short days, John Barton is usually based in Victoria. Since fall, he’s served as the Saskatoon Public Library’s Writer in Residence.

Tonight we’re going upscale: John gives a keynote address. Some of us think we might dress up, at least put on a necklace with our constant jeans and sweats.

Looking out the window, I see big prairie sky: blue with white clouds rolling past like trains. The only sound unsteady gusts of wind, that endless wind.